Only One Wish
by irishflute
Summary: Submission for Smythofsky Prompts #3 - Wishes. When Dave is given a terminal diagnosis, Sebastian has but one wish - too bad no one's listening.


**A/N: Submission for Smythofsky Prompts #3 – Wishes.**

**I am so incredibly sorry. I promise – I'm planning to write lots of fluff for Smythofsky Week to make up for this.**

**Warnings: Major character death, minor language. Angst like whoa.**

"There has to be something else." Sebastian's voice was like icy steel.

"I'm so, so sorry, Mr. Smythe," the doctor murmured, "but we've explored all treatment options. There is nothing more we can do for –"

"_Bullshit,"_ Sebastian persisted. "We've got the money; we're willing to try anything. You can't just _give up!_ You're _doctors;_ you're supposed to save people, not just leave them to –" he threw up his hands and started to pace around the room. "We'll go somewhere else, find a _more competent_ doctor who will actually _treat_ us!"

"You are welcome, of course, to consult with other medical professionals, but I'm afraid they'll tell you the same thing. I would advise you and your husband to go home, make him as comfortable as possible, finalize the necessary arrangements."

Sebastian took a deep, fiery breath, ready to launch into another argument, but Dave, who had been sitting in a chair beside him, put a hand on his arm. "How long?" Dave asked quietly. "How long do I have?"

The doctor looked at Dave with sympathy. "About a month."

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, but Dave's breath was long and slow as he took in the news. "All right," said Dave, his voice tight but composed. "Is that all?"

The doctor nodded. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay," said Dave slowly. He turned to his husband. "Sebastian, let's go home."

For a moment, Sebastian looked as though he wanted to protest. _I'm not ready to quit fighting._ But after a moment, he bowed his head in acquiescence. "Okay, Bear Cub. Let's go home."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

By the time they got back from the doctor's office, it was already well past the normal dinner hour, but neither Dave nor Sebastian was hungry. They turned on the television and sat in front of it for a few hours, not really watching, until Dave – still not particularly hungry, but ready for a slight change of scenery – suggested they eat.

Dinner was a silent affair. Sebastian had insisted on cooking, but he'd never gotten much beyond the how-to-boil-water stage, so they were just having a relatively plain pasta dish. Both men seemed constantly on the verge of saying something, but neither spoke.

Finally, Sebastian banged his fist down on the table. "It's just not _fair!_ We're barely in our 30s! We haven't even made it to our ten-year anniversary! We were supposed to have more _time!"_

Dave jumped, startled at the outburst, but he reached out and put his hand over Sebastian's. His shoulders sagged. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Shit, Dave, you don't have to _apologize._ It's not like you got cancer on purpose." Sebastian deflated. "God, _I'm_ sorry. I should be the strong one, holding it together for you, but I'm just … I feel so out of control. I'm supposed to be able to make it better, but there's nothing I can do, and I hate that."

Dave nodded. "I hate it, too. But … Well. It's like you said. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can do. Nothing the doctors can do." He shrugged numbly.

Sebastian stared at him quizzically. "How can you be so at peace with this?" It wasn't an accusation, but it was close.

"I went through all the emotions in the beginning, when I was first diagnosed, before all the treatments that didn't work. I went through the anger and the denial and the grief. You were there – you were strong for me then. Now … Maybe it's my turn to be strong for you," Dave suggested, still holding onto Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian shook his head stubbornly. "It doesn't feel right. You're the one who's sick." He pressed his lips together, furiously trying to squelch the emotions threatening to burst from within him. "You shouldn't have to be the strong one, too."

"Maybe that's exactly why I should be the strong one, though," said Dave softly. "For me, it'll all be over soon. I won't have to fight much longer. But you've got to keep going."

Helplessness crept into Sebastian's eyes as he looked at Dave in desperation. "I don't want to keep going. Not without you," he whispered. Tears were running down his cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice.

Dave's eyelashes were damp and his vision was blurred, but he refused to cry. "You have to, Seb. That's the one thing I'm asking you to do. Don't stop living just because I'm gone. Go out there and do all the things we haven't gotten to yet. Find someone else to do them with, if you want. Just promise me you won't quit."

"Everything I want to do involves you being by my side. There's nothing left without you," Sebastian protested faintly.

Dave shook his head. "Please, Seb. I really don't want to pull the 'last request' card, but I'll do it if I have to."

Sebastian turned away, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep, quivering breath. "You know I can't say no to you, Bear Cub."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Later, as Sebastian was cleaning up the kitchen, he glanced at the clock on the microwave. _11:11._ _Make a wish._ It was silly, but somehow, the idea of wishing all his problems away seemed like a way to hold out hope. A small motion to show the universe he hadn't given up yet. _I wish the cancer would go away. I wish for Dave to live a long and happy life with me. I wish for him to be okay._ The clock flicked to 11:12. His minute of wishing was over for the night.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"How are you feeling this morning?" asked Sebastian, lying in bed beside his husband. "Do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed?"

Dave smiled, but shook his head. "Nah, I don't really feel like eating." He repositioned slightly, unsuccessfully hiding a wince of pain. Sebastian instantly reached towards him, his eyes narrowed in concern, but Dave put up a hand to stop him. "I'm fine, Seb. Really."

Sebastian looked at him dubiously. "You don't sound fine."

Dave sighed. "I'm about as fine as I get, at this point, I guess."

Sebastian's face crumpled. "I'm so sorry, Dave."

"It's not your fault," said Dave with a small shrug. "_I'm_ sorry – I know this is probably killing you just as much as it's killing me."

Sebastian flinched.

"Sorry, poor choice of words," Dave apologized again.

Sebastian shook his head. "You don't have to apologize, Bear Cub. You're the one who's suffering, the one who's – who's –"

"Dying, Seb," said Dave softly, reaching out to stroke Sebastian's face. "It's okay to say it."

Closing his eyes, Sebastian bit his lip. "If there was any way for me to switch places with you, I'd do it."

"Would you, though?" Dave asked. "I'm not sure you'd be doing me a favor. The way I see it, it's harder to be the one left behind."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "I guess it kind of sucks to be either of us right now."

"Yeah," agreed Dave with a sad smile, "it kind of does."

The two men pulled each other closer and just lay there in each other's arms. _I'm not wishing for an eternity of this,_ Sebastian thought desperately, projecting his desires towards some higher power he didn't really believe was listening. _Just a lifetime. Is that too much to ask?_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sebastian tapped his foot restlessly, absently folding and unfolding the napkin in his lap into oblivion. "I don't like dining rooms. Why do we have a dining room?"

"Um. So we have someplace to eat?" Dave suggested. "I don't know; it came with the house."

"Dining rooms are stuffy places with awkward family dinners. They're like formal living rooms – you don't actually _use_ them; you just sort of go in there when you feel like having a particularly unpleasant conversation."

"Or, you know, breakfast," Dave joked.

"Right. Sorry. This just isn't doing much for my already low opinion of dining rooms." Sebastian took a deep breath. "You sure you're up for this?"

Dave blinked at him from across the table. "I have to be, don't I? He's my dad … he needs to know. And he deserves to be told by me, in person."

"It doesn't have to be now, though," urged Sebastian. "We only found out two days ago. What if – it could still turn out to be a false alarm, or –"

"Sebastian," said Dave softly. "It's not a false alarm. The doctors – they know what they're talking about. And … I feel like I'm dying."

"But how can you know what dying feels like?" asked Sebastian weakly. "When I got the flu a couple years ago, I totally felt like I was dying, but I wasn't – I got better. You could still get better." His argument sounded pathetic even to him.

"It's different, Seb," said Dave, shaking his head. "I can feel the difference."

Sebastian deflated. His throat was tight. "Okay."

"No it's not," Dave sighed. "But … it's the truth." Dave glanced up at him. "Do you still think … Are you sure you don't want to tell your parents?"

"Yes," Sebastian spat. "They'll find out eventually. I don't want them intruding on what time we've got left."

"You're going to need family, though," Dave said quietly. "When I'm gone, you'll need support from _someone._"

"Not them," said Sebastian firmly. "You're not planning to reach out to your homophobic asshole of a mother and tell _her_, are you?"

"Point taken," Dave grimaced. "Okay. In that case … maybe you and my dad can help each other. I mean, since Mom left, I'm all the family he has, too."

Sebastian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He took a long sip from the coffee mug in front of him, taking a moment to regain his composure. "I can do that."

"Thanks, Seb. It means a lot. To me. And to him."

"Of course, Bear Cub." He took a deep breath. "So. Do you want me to stay in here when you talk to him, or should I give you some space?"

Hesitating, Dave bit his lip. "It'd probably be easier on you if I told him by myself."

"I don't care what's easier for me," Sebastian snorted. "What do _you _want?"

Dave let out a shallow, shaky breath. "I …" He met Sebastian's eyes. "Stay. Please stay."

"Of course, love," Sebastian whispered, smiling at his husband in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

A moment later, the doorbell rang. Dave's eyes widened. "He's early."

"You've got this, sweetheart," Sebastian encouraged. "Want me to answer it?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. That'd be great."

On his way around the table towards the front door, Sebastian reached down and squeezed Dave's shoulder. "It'll be okay. He'll be okay."

Dave looked up at him, his eyes exposing fear and a hint of panic. "You promise?"

"Yes," said Sebastian simply. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him how dangerous it was to make promises he couldn't possibly keep, but he silenced it. The relief in Dave's expression was worth whatever consequences he encountered down the road.

Once he was out of sight, Sebastian rubbed a hand against his eyes. An eyelash came away on his fingertip. _Let this go well. And let it be completely unnecessary. Let Dave be okay._ Closing his eyes, he blew it away and answered the door.

"Hey, Mr. Karofsky. Come on in," he said with much more bravado than he'd expected to muster.

"Sebastian, I've been telling you to call me Paul for years now – for an intelligent young man, you sure seem to struggle with that concept!"

Sebastian laughed. "My apologies, Paul. I promise I'll work on it!" _More promises._ He seemed to be handing them out like candy. "Let's go into the dining room – Dave's waiting for us."

Paul leaned in closer to Sebastian, putting a hand on his arm. He lowered his voice. "Before we go in there, tell me, really – how's he doing? He doesn't like it when I see him hurting, so it's hard for me to get a straight answer out of him."

Sebastian froze. "He … he should really tell you himself."

Paul's grip on Sebastian's arm tightened. "That bad?" he whispered.

Sebastian swallowed heavily, trying to keep the bleakness out of his eyes. "Let's just go see Dave."

Paul's shoulders sagged momentarily. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Let's go in, then."

Dave looked up quickly when they rounded the corner to the dining room. "Dad," he whispered, moving to stand.

His father quickly crossed the last few steps between them and pulled his son into a tight hug. Paul's eyes were closed, and he seemed surprised at how thin Dave had gotten, but he managed to keep most of the pain out of his voice. "Hey, son. It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Dad," said Dave, his voice cracking slightly.

The men embraced each other a moment longer, then sat at the table. Sebastian was already seated, sipping his coffee and trying to keep a fine wall between his emotions and his outward expressions.

"So," said Paul heavily, "I take it you have some news?"

Dave bit his lip. He had clearly hoped to avoid this part of the visit for a while, but his father had never been one for beating around the bush. "Yeah. Yeah, I do," he sighed. "We went to the doctor on Tuesday, to get the latest test results and evaluate treatment options. And …" Dave paused; his throat constricted. Sebastian was staring deliberately at the table. "There's nothing more they can do."

"No more treatments? Nothing experimental, or … Anything?" his father asked, desperately grasping at straws, refusing to believe he had interpreted his son's words correctly.

Dave shook his head. "They told us to go home and be as comfortable as possible." He swallowed. "I've got about a month."

"A month," Paul repeated, choking through a sob. "I just – that's so little _time."_

"I know. I'm sorry, Dad," said Dave, tears running down his face. Sebastian felt moisture gathering in his eyes, too, but he refused to let it flow. _Two crying men are enough._

Paul shook his head as if to clear it. "Are you prepared?" he asked. "I mean, not _mentally,_ I'm sure, but legally, financially …?"

"Dad," Dave laughed gently, "Sebastian's a lawyer. On paper, we've been prepared for this for years."

"Of course, good," Paul nodded. His eyes were still slightly unfocused, mind racing. "I suppose … Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

Dave looked to Sebastian, who shrugged, shaking his head slightly. "Nah, Dad, I think we're okay." His father slumped slightly in his chair. "I mean, if there's anything you _want_ to do, I'm sure we'd appreciate it … I just meant, we've got things under control. Well. As under control as they can be," he amended.

Paul nodded slowly. "All right, son."

The three men sat in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. After a minute, Paul seemed to reach some sort of conclusion in his head and snap out of it. "Well, boys, I should probably get going."

"Do you have to?" asked Dave, looking as though he wasn't sure he wanted his father to leave.

"You can stay for dinner, if you'd like," suggested Sebastian. "We've got plenty – neighbors have been bringing over lasagnas for months now," he added lightly.

Paul shook his head. "Not tonight." He lowered his head and looked slightly up at Dave. "But I'll be back. Don't you go thinking this is the last of me. I won't have any tearful goodbyes." He smiled with a sort of grim determination. _"Not yet, anyway,"_ he added under his breath.

Dave's smile was more genuine, but tinted with the same determination. "Thanks, Dad. We look forward to it."

Paul nodded crisply. "So do I." He turned to Sebastian. "Will you see me out?"

"I'd love to," said Sebastian, standing smoothly and escorting his father-in-law to the door.

In the foyer, Paul stopped, placing a hand on Sebastian's arm and staring somewhere around his shoes. "Sebastian. You'll … You'll take care of him."

It wasn't quite a question, but Sebastian treated it as such. "Of course, sir." He reached out and gripped the older man's shoulder. "Until the very end. And probably longer."

Paul nodded; this was the answer he'd expected. "Good. You're a good man, Sebastian. Dave's lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him," said Sebastian earnestly, without hesitation.

"We all are, aren't we?" Paul smiled sadly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Did you have a good time with the guys from the office? Was it too much? How are you feeling?" asked Sebastian in rapid succession as he helped Dave out of his coat. His husband looked pale and tired, but a sparkle had returned to his eyes.

Dave ignored the second and third questions, instead answering only the first. "It was nice – we managed to get through most of the awkward death stuff at the beginning, so through most of dinner, we could just talk and laugh and have a good time without all the extra baggage around my head," grinned Dave. "The guys were really good at just letting me forget about it for a while."

Sebastian's smile froze on his face. "So … basically the opposite of what I've been doing."

Dave's eyes widened. "No!" he said quickly. "No, Seb, you've been great. That's not what I meant at all. I just – it's just nice, sometimes, to … But I wasn't saying –"

"It's okay, babe. You're right," said Sebastian, his voice tight. "I've been trying too hard, haven't I?"

Dave shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "A little, yeah. But I don't mind – not really."

"Okay." Sebastian bit his lip. "I've been kind of obsessed lately. Just promise to let me know when I'm overdoing it, all right?"

"I will," Dave nodded.

"Good," said Sebastian, leaning in to give his husband a quick kiss. "I plan to spend a considerable amount of time with you in the exceptionally near future – that won't work out so well for either of us if I'm secretly driving you up a wall."

Dave laughed. "You're not going to drive me up a wall, Seb."

"Glad to hear it," Sebastian replied with a grin. "Well, it's certainly not for lack of opportunity."

"You know, you're going to have to go back to work eventually," Dave reminded his husband gently. "It's nearly been two weeks – weren't you in the middle of a couple of important cases?"

Sebastian shook his head. "It's all taken care of, Bear Cub. They've given me as much time off as I need."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "Really? You can just put everything on hold indefinitely and it'll all be fine when you get back?"

"Yep!"

"Seb …"

"Okay, fine. I've been working from home after you go to sleep."

"Seb, no wonder you've been so exhausted!" exclaimed Dave in concern. "It's okay for you to work while I'm awake, you know."

Sebastian pressed his lips together. "No, it's not." He took Dave's hand. "There's so little time left – I don't want to waste any of it distracted by work." He smirked slightly, but his eyes remained tender. "Besides, if I'm up later, I get to watch you sleep."

"Creeper," said Dave, trying to maintain an accusatory expression.

"What can I say? I've been feeling like Edward Cullen lately," Sebastian shrugged, a light returning to his eyes.

Dave wrinkled his nose. "Okay, now I _definitely_ think you need to go back to work. Or at least start getting more sleep."

Sebastian laughed, but he couldn't help but feel a strange connection with the stupid sparkly vampire. After all, while he could see nothing but years and years of life ahead for himself, he was acutely aware of the mortality of the one he loved.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"What can I do for you?" asked Sebastian anxiously. "Do you need more water? Or something else to drink? What about a snack? Or more pillows?"

"I'm fine, Seb, really." Dave smiled up at him from under a pile of blankets. A large bottle of water sat on the table beside him, next to a half-eaten bowl of soup. "I think you've already surrounded me with every pillow in the house."

"Do you need more, though? I can go buy more pillows – I'll be back before you even know I'm gone!"

"If you give me any more pillows, you might just lose sight of the entire sofa," said Dave dryly.

"Do you want me to take some away?" asked Sebastian with concern.

Dave shook his head. "I promise, Seb, I'm fine." He sighed. "A few pillows more or less probably won't make much difference."

A wave of anguish passed across Sebastian's face, but he quickly hid it. "Come on, Bear Cub, there's got to be _something_ I can do for you."

"Well …" said Dave slowly, looking up. "There _is_ one thing that needs to be done."

"What is it? I'll do anything," said Sebastian.

"Could you … Could you call Kurt?"

"Oh." The eagerness drained from Sebastian's face.

"It's just – we've already told Dad, and I went out with the guys from work, and … he's one of my best friends. He needs to know. Have the chance to …" he drew a shaky breath. "To say goodbye. If he wants." Dave looked up at Sebastian, his eyes betraying more emotion than he'd allowed himself to show in weeks. "And I just don't know if I can make that phone call right now. Please … can you?"

Sebastian closed his eyes. "Consider it done."

"Thanks, Seb," said Dave, sounding as though his invisible burden was slightly less of a hindrance than it had been before.

"No problem, Bear Cub," Sebastian told him. "If he asks to talk to you, should I say you're sleeping?"

Dave nodded. "That … that would be nice. I want to talk to him, but not right now. You can tell him I'll call back tomorrow or something – find out when he'll have time to talk."

"Got it," Sebastian said. "I'm going to go sit outside while I make the call so I don't disturb you, okay?"

"You sure?" Dave asked.

"Yeah, it's a nice night – it'll feel good to be outside for a bit," Sebastian reassured him. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"I will."

Out on their back deck, Sebastian settled into one of the chairs by the railing and pulled out his phone. It was a pleasantly cool evening; the sun had just set. It was the sort of night he and Dave enjoyed most, sitting outside and watching the birds and the rabbits and the neighbors. Tonight, however, even the rabbits seemed to have halted their scurrying.

Kurt answered on the second ring. "Sebastian?"

"Hey, Kurt, how's it going?"

"We're fine; more importantly, how are you? I know you had a doctor's appointment a week or two ago, but I didn't know if I should call or if you wanted space or –" Kurt paused to take a breath. "Sorry. Just – what's the latest?"

Sebastian swallowed. He hadn't realized Dave had kept Kurt so informed on his treatments and doctor's appointments. Somehow, that made what he was about to tell him even more difficult. "It's … not good."

He heard Kurt's breath catch in his throat. "No …" he whispered. "It's not – he's hasn't already – Please tell me you aren't calling to tell me about a funeral."

"No," said Sebastian quickly, "but … he's dying. They said – he's got less than a month." It was taking everything Sebastian had to keep from breaking down right there on the phone.

"Oh, god, Sebastian, I – I'm so, so sorry. For both of you." Kurt's voice was thick with emotion. "I can only imagine what this must be like for you."

"Thanks," said Sebastian hollowly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I …" Sebastian shook his head wordlessly. Everyone seemed to ask that same question, but he never had an answer for it. "I don't think so. Not unless you've been developing a cure for cancer in secret," he laughed humorlessly.

"Hah. I wish," said Kurt wistfully, "but no." He sighed. "Can I talk to him?"

"He wants to – but not tonight. He's sleeping right now," Sebastian lied smoothly and apologetically. "But tomorrow, maybe? When would be a good time for him to call you?"

"Let me think …" said Kurt. "I've got an appointment at ten, so … sometime in the afternoon?"

"That should work," nodded Sebastian. "I'll – I'll text you if something comes up."

"Thank you," whispered Kurt. "For calling me. I'm pretty sure I'm still not on your 'favorite people' list."

"Dave asked me to," said Sebastian honestly.

"I thought he might have," said Kurt, "but still. Thank you. It means a lot."

"You care about him, too. You deserve to know," Sebastian shrugged.

"I appreciate it," said Kurt earnestly. He took a deep breath. "Well then. I'll hear from you – or Dave – tomorrow. And, Sebastian …" He paused. "If _you_ need anything – now, or … after – please don't hesitate to ask. I know we haven't always been on the best of terms, but … I'm here. Whatever you need."

Sebastian swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He put a hand to his face. "Careful, Hummel – I might just take you up on that."

Kurt laughed softly. "Good." He hesitated. "Do you want to talk about anything right now?"

Sebastian drew in a long breath, letting the cool night air penetrate his core. He had to admit, it was tempting. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself the luxury of confiding in someone. Now that he was presented with the opportunity, he felt he shouldn't pass it up.

But he was so tired. And he wouldn't know where to begin.

He sighed. "Thanks, Kurt, but I'll take a rain check."

"All right," said Kurt quickly. He couldn't tell if the other man was relieved or disappointed. "Goodnight, Sebastian."

"'Night," said Sebastian, hanging up. He exhaled slowly, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the now-dark sky. Earth-glow dulled many of the stars dotting the canvas above him, but he could still see a good number. As he stared into the light-speckled darkness, a shooting star blazed across the sky. _I wish Dave would get better._ He continued to watch the spot where the star had been, projecting all of his wish-energy towards the long-faded streak of light. _Please be okay._

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Pancakes are ready!" announced Sebastian. "And they are neither burnt on the outside nor raw in the middle, so they should be twice as good as the ones I tried to make last week."

"They smell great, Seb," smiled Dave.

"They _are_ great!" Sebastian corrected overzealously. Dave raised his eyebrows at Sebastian's intense enthusiasm. He chided himself and tried to turn it down a few notches. "So, what kind of syrup do you want?"

"Cane syrup would be nice," said Dave hopefully.

"Coming right up!" declared Sebastian, practically leaping over to the cabinet to get the bottle. As quickly as possible, he returned to the table and sat down in front of his own stack of pancakes, covered in a light coat of maple syrup. As he raised his fork with his first bite, he noticed a small chip in the side of his plate. _A wish dish,_ he thought, oddly hopeful. As he brought the bite of pancake to his mouth, he sent up one more request. _I wish Dave would get better instead of worse._

In the past week, Dave had deteriorated dramatically. His usually bright eyes had become sunken and dull, and nearly all the color had left his face. Once-strong muscles were beginning to atrophy and lose definition, and he had lost far too much weight. Looking back, Sebastian supposed most of these changes had been gradual. Some, in fact, had been well on their way even before the doctors all threw in the towel. Still, though, only recently did Dave truly start to look like a dying man.

Although he refused to admit it, Sebastian knew it wouldn't be long now. And he was determined to bring as much life as possible to every second they had left.

"I'm really glad Dad came by for dinner yesterday," commented Dave quietly as he cut up his pancakes and languidly pushed them around on his plate. "I'm not so sure I'm up for visitors today – even Dad."

Sebastian kept the flash of panic out of his eyes. _No._ "I'm just glad I get you all to myself, Bear Cub," he said lightly. "I'm getting tired of sharing you with all these well-wishers who insist on seeing you."

"What can I say – I'm a popular guy!" Dave joked.

In the several days since Dave's conversation with Kurt, a surprising number of visitors – mostly former Warblers or members of New Directions who "just happened to be in the area" – had stopped by. Some visits had been more tolerable than others. Santana, who had pounded on the door demanding to see her "favorite beard and most tolerable sworn enemy" barely an hour after Dave had gotten off the phone with Kurt, was far more welcome than an overly emotional Rachel Berry, who had spent nearly an hour offering exceptionally unhelpful advice and using up all of their tissues before Sebastian managed to find a semi-polite way to kick her out. The visits were appreciated, but they were also draining – of energy and of time.

"So, love, what's on the docket for today?"

"Can we have a Lord of the Rings marathon?" asked Dave. "Extended editions, obviously."

Sebastian smiled. "Sounds like a plan!" The movies were among the couple's favorites. Sebastian looked forward to a day well spent holding Dave in his arms and memorizing his every reaction to the happenings of Middle Earth. After all, he'd have to rely on his mind to replay them the next time he put in the DVDs.

It was a simple day – almost identical to many that had come before. But that was what made it so perfect. There was no over-the-top gesture, no deathbed focus. No visitors, no intrusions – just two young men, madly in love, watching an unlikely band of hobbits, elves, dwarves, and men fight for the salvation of all.

"I wish every day could be like today," Dave said softly as they went to sleep that night.

"Me too, Bear Cub," Sebastian smiled. "Me too."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Seb," a weak, rough voice whispered early the next morning, pulling Sebastian out of his light slumber. "I think … I don't have long."

Sebastian's eyes flew open. Suddenly, his tired brain was fully wired and alert, flashing through an impossible range of memories, emotions, and helpless pleas. _Funny,_ he thought without humor, _I thought your life was only supposed to flash before your eyes when _you_ were the one dying._ "You mean – like – today?" he choked, his eyes darting across every detail of Dave's face, resting on the pillow beside him.

Dave nodded almost imperceptibly. "I mean – I can't know, really, but …" he paused to take a few shallow breaths. "It sure as hell feels like it."

"_No,"_ breathed Sebastian. His body started to shake. He tried to calm his breathing. "But – it's only been three weeks. We were supposed to have more _time!"_ Silent tears streamed down Sebastian's face. _"I'm not ready."_

"Sebastian, sweetheart, you'll never be ready," said Dave with a heartbreaking smile.

"I just – for months now, ever since you first got sick, I've been using every wish – every star, every eyelash, every 11:11, every chipped plate – to wish that you're okay. And –" Sebastian choked back a sob. "You're not. You're not okay, and no amount of wishing is going to change that."

"But I _am_ okay," argued Dave, reaching out to hold Sebastian in his cancer-weakened arms. "You're the one who's not."

"How can you say that?" asked Sebastian, broken. "I'm going to walk away from this, and you –" He stopped, his throat constricting. Every surface of his face felt tight and wet with tears.

"I'm okay," Dave repeated. He hesitated, a certain regretful uncertainty passing over his face. When he spoke, his voice was still weak, and his speech was riddled with pauses as he struggled to keep air in his dying lungs, but a level of serenity eclipsed his words. "I know you don't believe in all this, but … I do. I believe there's a beautiful place waiting for me, free of pain, where I can watch over you and wait – a long time, I hope – for you to join me. And then we'll have that eternity we promised each other."

Sebastian closed his eyes and softly leaned his forehead against Dave's. "Damn, Bear Cub, you're starting to make this whole 'religion' thing sound like a pretty sweet deal."

Dave shrugged. "It's what I believe." He lightly brushed his lips against Sebastian's nose. "You can, too, if you want."

Sebastian slowly shook his head. "I wish I did, Dave. I really wish I did."

"It's okay, Seb," Dave murmured. His face fell slightly. "I guess I'll know who's right soon enough."

They held each other in silence. After a minute, Dave started to laugh. "What?" asked Sebastian.

"Chipped plates?"

Sebastian pulled back in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"What do chipped plates have to do with wishing?"

"Chipped plates are called Wish Dishes!" Sebastian explained seriously. "If you're served on a chipped plate, you're supposed to make a wish as you take your first bite! I thought everybody knew that!"

Dave laughed even harder, his weak lungs struggling to keep up with the mirth in his eyes.

"What?" asked Sebastian, mystified.

"You – don't – believe in – one of the largest – most widely – accepted – religions – in the _world_ – but you think – a broken plate – can fix – everything!" said Dave through his laughter.

For a second, Sebastian just stared, his mouth agape. Then he started to laugh, too. He pulled his husband securely into his arms, Dave's head resting against his neck, and the two men held each other, shaking with laughter. Gradually, they stilled, each listening to the other's breathing. Senses heightened, they took in every smell, every touch, absorbing as much of each other as possible.

"Seb?"

"Yeah, Dave?"

"I love you. So much."

"I love you too, Bear Cub."

For a minute, Sebastian could almost forget that anything was wrong. As he lay in bed holding his husband, it felt like a typical lazy morning. It could be any day where the two were both off from work and had no particular plans or obligations. It didn't have to be the _last_ day.

But it was. And no amount of wishing could change that.

"Dave," he whispered, "is there anything – anything you want to do, or see, or eat, or anyone you want to talk to?" The unspoken "before you die" hung heavily in the air.

Dave let out an unsteady breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah. Tons of stuff. I wanted to see the world with you. Visit Paris again. Go to stupid company parties with you and ditch out as soon as we've had our fill of appetizers. Raise kids with you. See my dad play with his grandchildren. Watch them grow up and go to college and start their lives. I wanted to grow old with you. But at this point …" he shook his head against Sebastian's chest. "No. I just want you."

"You've got me. You've always got me," Sebastian said softly, his lips lightly grazing Dave's head, his eyes firmly closed. He refused to let himself break down. Crying only muddled his mind and hindered his senses, and he wanted to be as sharp as possible. He couldn't afford to miss a moment of this.

Dave's breaths were growing more shallow and less frequent. "It really isn't fair," he said quietly, "that I can't promise the same to you."

"You've already given me everything, love," Sebastian gently objected. "I couldn't wish for more."

"Yes, you could," Dave flatly disagreed. "And you _should._ Keep wishing and dreaming and planning. I _need_ you to wish for more." He swallowed heavily. "Because I can't."

"How am I supposed to do all those things without you?" asked Sebastian, quietly and evenly, working to keep his voice from breaking. "How can I do it all by myself?"

"Doesn't have to be by yourself," said Dave, struggling with every word. "Find someone else. Fall in love again."

"How?" Sebastian choked.

A smile played across Dave's lips. "Are you asking me how you get a guy to like you?"

Sebastian grinned in spite of himself. "Yeah, maybe I am."

"Well, then, don't change a single thing," Dave told him fervently, looking into his eyes.

"You're not even going to tell me to tone down the cockiness?" asked Sebastian with a smirk.

Dave didn't even pause to consider. "Nope. Anyone who's good enough will love you even more for it."

Sebastian reveled in the glow of Dave's words, but the light quickly dissipated. "And how do I find a guy who could possibly be good enough to follow you?"

Dave closed his eyes and smiled, nestling a little closer to his husband. "Well, I guess you'll just have to learn to settle."

"I guess so," whispered Sebastian sadly.

The men lay in silence. Dave was fading, but Sebastian had never felt more attentive. He could hear Dave's thin, rough breaths and feel the small puffs of air hitting his chest. He could sense Dave's faint heartbeat, pulsing slowly through his withered body. Dave's skin was hot and clammy, but Sebastian clung to him anyway.

Dave let out a slight whimper. "Shh, sweetheart, you're okay," murmured Sebastian, holding him close, rubbing his back, nuzzling his face. "I'm here, I love you, it's okay, you're going to be okay," he repeated. He kept up this mantra, rocking gently back and forth. He tried to will his energy, his life, into Dave's frail and failing body, wishing desperately for one more day, one more hour, one more minute.

The sweet, warm breaths against his chest hit with less and less frequency. The unsteady heartbeats came more slowly and with more effort.

Then they stopped completely.

And from that moment, everything became blurry.

Sebastian remembered the way the air caught in his throat, waiting for Dave's breaths to catch up.

He remembered thinking that _someone_ should stop the dreadful screaming that penetrated his skull.

He remembered realizing, belatedly, that _he_ was the one making that god-awful noise.

He remembered the shock he'd felt when he realized Dave's skin had turned an unnatural purplish shade.

He vaguely remembered holding his phone, trying to form words that would make sense to the _someone_ on the other end.

He remembered Paul Karofsky walking in and immediately turning away, violently ill with utter devastation.

He remembered Paul coming back into the room, somewhat more composed, so he could hold onto Sebastian as the men from the funeral home took the body away.

He remembered Santana, of all people, replacing Paul at his side, tears running down her face but fiery resolve in her eyes.

He remembered her handing him a small pill and a glass of water, telling him he needed to sleep.

He remembered thinking this was silly – _sleep won't bring him back; that's what took him in the first place – _but swallowing the pill anyway.

And then, for a long, blissful time, he remembered nothing at all.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The funeral was small, simple, but reasonably well attended. Sebastian wasn't entirely sure who had worked out all the details and arrangements – most, of course, he and Dave had talked about and written out together, well in advance, but he was positive there were details they'd forgotten to cover. Somehow, though, none of these oversights came to light.

He had a sneaking suspicion Santana had taken care of most of it. While he and Paul had been largely in a fog, Dave's former classmate had thrown herself passionately into a caregiver position. At some point, she had managed to move a large portion of her belongings into Sebastian's guest room. He didn't remember giving her permission to do so – he wasn't even entirely sure how she'd gotten into his house – but he was glad to have her around.

The service was beautiful. Paul, Sebastian, and Kurt all delivered eulogies. Although Sebastian couldn't remember a word any of them said, he was consistently assured by friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers that he'd done a wonderful job and they'd all been very brave.

He didn't feel brave, but he graciously accepted their compliments and condolences.

He kept thinking of comments to share with Dave, things to point out that would make him laugh, and then it would wash over him anew – he couldn't share anything with Dave. He could never again say something to make him laugh.

It was over.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A week after the funeral, Sebastian returned to work. His colleagues were sympathetic but brusque, eager for him to start pulling his weight again and putting in time on his cases. Sebastian came home and ranted to Santana about how cold and heartless they had been, and then he let her hold him as he cried. Deep down, he knew they were right.

After a month, he told Santana to go home and get back to her life. She protested, told him he wasn't ready, said she was in no rush to leave, but he could see the relief in her eyes as he firmly and persistently told her he would be okay and it was time for her to let him start figuring this out on his own. She had her bags packed and was gone within an hour.

After three months, he finally made it through a day without crying. When he realized this as he was lying in bed, he nearly broke his streak, but he held it together and smiled instead. His heart still felt empty, but for the first time in months, his eyes had stayed dry for an entire day. Maybe the world would eventually lose its coat of grey film.

After four months, he noticed he had stopped talking to Paul every day. It had happened gradually. Their conversations had become shorter, less tearful. Sometimes, they didn't even talk about Dave – well, not much. It wasn't as though the two stopped talking to each other. They just stopped needing each other so desperately. They were developing new routines and redefining the word "normal."

Six months had passed. Sebastian was on the phone with his travel agent. "I'd like to book a flight to Paris. One way, please. I'll be in touch – I'm not sure where I'll go from there."


End file.
